Note: CHARBONNEAU is a prequel to this story but each story stands on its own.
Disclaimers: The characters are all mine, and the story is all mine. Any similarity
to persons fictional, living, dead, or part of your X/G or other fantasies is
Warning: This is a mild B/D tale of F/F variety. It contains explicit sex between two consenting adult women. If you're underage, live in a place that this isn't allowed, or any of that offends or upsets you, DO NOT READ THIS STORY.
Violence: Well, since this is B/D, there is some "violence." However - no one is hurt.
Feedback: Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome; spam and vitriol are
not. Encouraging words and a pat on the back are more than welcome. That having
been said read on and let me know what you think. email@example.com
WEDNESDAYS AT THE TROQUEDERO
Copyright © Saggio Amante 2004.
All rights reserved.
Marquetta stared at her pale reflection in the dresser mirror. 'I look like death warmed over,' she thought.
She picked up her pearl handled brush and began to pull it slowly through her jet-black hair, one, two, three strokes, not stopping until she had reached one hundred. Her ebony hair shone blue in the light of the room. She pinched her pale cheeks until the flow of blood turned them pink.
'Better,' she decided. 'Perhaps a bit of rouge would help.' She lightly dabbed
her cheeks, smoothing the rouge until it was almost unnoticeable. She hated makeup
but life left her no choice.
A knock on the door. "Come in Grace," Marquetta said.
"May I get you anything, Madam?" Grace asked casting a worried glance at the tall, thin woman seated at the dressing table.
"Perhaps, if you would help me with my hair," Marquetta replied.
Grace stood behind the pale woman and began to twist her long black hair into a chignon. "There, madam," she said when she was finished. "You look most beautiful today. Will there be anything else?"
"No, Grace," Marquetta said. "You go now. I will be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."
"But, madam," Grace protested.
"Go, Grace, it's Wednesday, your day off. I'll see you tomorrow."
"And will Master Welles be back tonight?" Grace asked.
"Not tonight; tomorrow. Now be off with you!"
"Yes, madam," Grace replied, "but if you need anything ..."
"I'll call," Marquetta said with a weary sigh. She remained at her dressing table until she heard the click of the front door as Grace left.
She rose and went to her closet, reaching into the very back to remove leather
pants, a creamy silk blouse, and a coal black cape. She laid the clothes on the
bed then returned to the closet, kneeling on the floor to reach into the rear
and remove a pair of
black stiletto boots, a hat, and a riding crop. She dropped her rings into a jewelry box and began to get dressed.
The black leather pants caressed Marquetta's skin as she pulled them on. She rubbed her hands down her thighs, and the soft leather tingled against her palms like the skin of a lover. She wore no underwear. She put on the creamy silk blouse and tucked it into her pants, smoothing it carefully so that no line showed beneath the leather. She ran her hands over the silk covering her breasts and sucked in a breath as she felt her nipples harden in response.
Marquetta reached into her jewelry box, pulled out an onyx cabochon, and pinned
it to the neck of her blouse. She pulled the black cape around her and strode
from the room, her hat and riding crop in her hands.
She rang the servants' quarters. "Joseph, bring the Bentley around," she said.
"Yes, madam, and where will we be driving tonight?"
"I'll drive myself, Joseph," Marquetta responded.
"But, madam," he protested. "Do you think that wise? I will be most happy to drive you."
"Bring the car around, Joseph!" Marquetta ordered. "I will drive myself!"
"Yes, madam," Joseph replied.
Each Wednesday it was the same. She would demand; he would protest. She would
drive herself to god knows where and return in the middle of the night.
Joseph brought the black Bentley to the front of the house and held the door as Marquetta slid into the front seat.
"Don't wait up, Joseph. I'll be out late," she told him.
He nodded and walked back to his quarters as she drove away.
The drive into town was a short one and Marquetta found herself walking to the door of the Troquedero fifteen minutes later. She placed her hat on her head and the crop under her arm as she strode to the front door. She knocked once and waited as a small window on the door opened and two dark eyes checked her out. She heard the bolt slide against the wood and the door opening to admit her inside.
The rhythm of Marquetta's stilettos clicking against the tile floor was the only sound that could be heard until she reached the end of a long hallway and opened the door there. She stepped inside and gasped as she felt a hand slide between her legs and grasp her tightly. She dug her nails into the arm of the intruder, and heard a voice moan with pleasure in response.
"You don't touch without asking," Marquetta growled at the woman who held her
in her grip. The woman slipped away rubbing her forearm and smiling.
Marquetta strode purposefully through the crowd. It separated to give her passage. She could hear the voices whispering, "Marq is here." She smiled internally knowing exactly what effect her presence had on every person there.
Marquetta moved to the front of the room and sat at an empty table there. It was her table. No one could sit at that table without her permission. She laid her hat and cloak on the chair next to her and nodded to the server who magically appeared with a bottle of
"Open it and set it on the table," she ordered. The server complied.
The crowd shuffled, each person trying to get Marquetta's attention.
"Music," she ordered. Music began to fill the room.
"Dance," Marquetta said waving her hand at the crowd.
One by one, the crowd paired off. The pairs moved together seamlessly, breast against breast, hips grinding, thigh between thigh - wet, sweaty bodies awash with the promise of sex.
Marquetta sat watching the dancers through lidded eyes. The server stood silently
next to her table.
Marquetta pointed her riding crop. "That one," she told the server.
A tall, lean woman with short, blonde hair stood in the corner leaning against the wall. Her green eyes challenged Marquetta.
Marquetta's blue eyes challenged back.
The server stopped by the blonde. "Marq would like you to sit with her," the server said.
"She can come ask me herself," the blonde replied, casting a smirk in Marquetta's direction.
The server held his breath. This was his first night, but he knew the rules. "It doesn't work that way," he whispered fearfully.
"It does tonight," the blonde replied confidently.
The server trembled as he went to deliver the message to Marquetta. He was relieved when the tall, dark-haired woman laughed with delight.
Marquetta rose from the table and moved to stand, legs apart, directly in front of the blonde. The blonde woman was tall, but Marquetta was taller. Marquetta reached out and grabbed the blonde around the waist.
The blonde resisted slightly and felt Marquetta tense. Laughing, she reached
her arms around Marquetta and drew her close. "Is this what you want," she whispered.
Marquetta pushed the blonde against the wall. She placed her riding crop between the blonde's legs and rubbed it against her.
"This is what I want," Marquetta replied huskily. "And this," she said as she
grabbed the other woman's breast.
The blonde laughed. "Then you'll have to work for it," she said derisively.
Marquetta grabbed the woman by the wrists and pulled her forward. "No one denies Marq," she hissed.
"Then ask nicely," the blonde replied coldly. "No one orders Monique!"
Marquetta stiffened, and then roared with laughter.
The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, laughed with her.
"Drinks for everyone," the tall, dark-haired woman said. The crowd shouted
"Come with me," Marquetta requested.
The blonde did not move.
"Please," Marquetta continued in a tone that was more of a command than a request.
She reached for Monique's hand and led her back to the table.
"Will you sit here?" Marquetta asked, motioning to her lap.
"With pleasure, Marq," Monique responded.
Marquetta sat facing the stage. Monique straddled her, one leg on each side of Marquetta's thighs, her pubic mound against Marquetta's stomach. Marquetta burrowed her face between Monique's breasts and cupped her hands under Monique's buttocks squeezing them firmly.
"Close your legs," Monique whispered in Marquetta's ear. As Marquetta complied, Monique began to rotate her center against Marquetta's thigh.
"Can you feel how hot you make me?" Monique asked the dark-haired woman.
Marquetta took one hand from behind Monique and slid it in the space between them, cupping Monique's mound.
"Will you play with me?" Marq replied, pressing her hand hard against the cloth
covering Monique's clitoris and rubbing the hardened nub.
"I want to," Monique responded breathlessly, straining against Marq's hand, "but I am afraid." She slipped easily into character at the sound of her lovers question.
"I won't cause you any more pain than you want," Marq promised. "You will control this game."
"A game is it?" Monique husked. "Then let us play."
Monique rose slowly and let Marq lead her to the stage. She raised her arms above her head and stood silently as Marq removed her shirt and threw it to the side. Monique wore no bra. She kept her hands above her head and felt Marq close the leather straps around them.
Monique lowered her eyes as she felt Marq removing each item of her clothing until she was stripped naked in front of the watching crowd.
Marq reached down and spread Monique's legs, tying a matching strap of leather around each of her ankles. The room was dark. The only light was the light that shone on Monique's naked body.
Marq walked away and left Monique there - naked, exposed to a hundred eyes
she could not see, listening to a hundred breaths she would not help but hear.
As suddenly as Marq was gone, she was back, her black hat on her head, her cloak around her shoulders, and her riding crop in her hand. She stood in front of Monique and lifted her chin with the crop.
"Look into my eyes," Marq demanded.
Monique did as she was told. She did not see coldness in Marq's eyes; instead, all she saw was raw, primal hunger mixed with a look of compassion and wonderment.
"The safe word is 'rose'," Marq whispered. "Whenever you want to stop, just say 'rose'. Do you understand?"
Monique stared deeply into the dark blue eyes before her and nodded 'yes.'
Marq circled Monique, caressing her with the riding crop, running it over her breasts and between her legs. Suddenly, without warning, she snapped it against Monique's buttocks and heard her gasp with a gasp midway between pain and pleasure.
Marq felt her own heat begin to rise. She moved to Monique and stood in front of her, grabbing each breast in turn in her mouth and biting the nipples. She rotated each nipple between her teeth taking care not to break the skin.
Monique shuddered, her center contracting with each bite. This game was new,
more exciting than anything she had ever played before. The knowledge that they
were not alone was more of an aphrodisiac that she could ever have imagined. She
had never let anyone dominate her before, not until Marquetta, but she knew that
she could deny this woman nothing.
Marq sunk her teeth into Monique's neck and sucked until she saw the blood rise, leaving her mark. She continued nipping and sucking on Monique's body until she left it scattered with tattoos of each place her mouth had been.
With every bite, the rasp of Monique's breathing rose with rapid intensity. Beads of sweat rose on her naked body, which glimmered in the glow of the stage lights.
Marq snapped the riding crop with increasing frequency against Monique's back
and buttocks. "Remember the safe word," she whispered in Monique's ear.
Marq unsheathed the handle of her riding crop revealing a large, lifelike dildo. She put a rubber on the dildo and pushed Monique's head back to show it to her.
Monique stared at the dildo with undisguised passion, and moaned as Marquetta reached down to rub it between her legs. Monique saw her own slick wetness covering the dildo, and it excited her.
Marq reached forward and slid the wet dildo slowly in and out of Monique. "What do you want, baby? " She asked. "Do you want more? Do you want to take it all?"
"Yes," Monique moaned. She tried to press down and drive the dildo
deeper into her core, but the leather straps held her. The only pressure she could
receive was that which Marq allowed.
The women on the stage could hear the raspy breaths of the audience. The musky smell of sex invaded their nostrils. They could hear the moans and groans of the audience, and felt their own desires rising with each sound.
Marq knelt in front of Monique. She pushed the dildo further inside the blonde while at the same time capturing the hard, throbbing bud of Moniques clitoris in her mouth.
Marq's own center was sopping wet, the leather of her pants holding the dampness inside.
The wetness from Monique poured down over the dildo and into Marq's mouth.
Marq felt Monique quiver then contract over and over as the throes of multiple
orgasms overcame her. She saw Monique fall limp against the leather restraints
and heard her whisper "Rose", as the final contractions of her orgasm pounded
Marquetta pulled the Bentley into the driveway and looked fondly at the body asleep in the front seat next to her.
"Welles, wake up. We're home darling," she said.
The blonde form next to her stretched with catlike elegance and opened two
sleepy green eyes. "Home already?" She asked sleepily. "It seems so soon."
"Yes, love," Marquetta replied. "We're home again until next week."
"Hmmm. I love our Wednesdays at the Troquedero," Monique whispered, taking her lover's hand as they headed into their home and to their bed.
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